Saturday, October 22, 2011

“This is perfect, Princess,” Delitian said as she handed
him the folded copy of The Common Tongue.
“Just what we needed to sort out these rumours.”

“They are just
rumours then?” Fen asked suspiciously. “There’s no truth to them?”

“None at all,” Delitian replied dismissively, tucking The Common Tongue into his belt. Fen
could help but feel as if she had betrayed the greater population of Mournhold
as he did so. “Well done. I’ll mention your loyal
services and exceptional qualities to King Helseth.” Fen shot him an urgent
look. “As an anonymous aid,” Delitian added quickly. “I assure, you the King
knows nothing of your being here, Princess. And I think we might find you
further employment. For example, we lack sources of information in Almalexia’s Temple. Could you help me
find a Temple
informant?” Fen smiled wanly.

“The Temple doesn’t think much of me these days,”
she told him.

“Well, we need a source of
information inside it. There are rumors of discontent in the Temple. Go to Almalexia’s Temple. Look for someone discontented. Listen
sympathetically,” he said simply. “And find out whether the Temple
is willing to accept King Helseth – or whether the Temple plans to act against him.”

“Was my father faithful to the
Tribunal?”

“Of course he was, Delitian
said again, and his dismissive tone irritated Fen. “Can you help us?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Good,” Delitian said, going
to the door that led to the throne room. “When you’ve done that, find a pageboy
and send for me. I don’t think it would be wise for you to stride into your
father’s midst.” Fen agreed and left into the sunny Palace Courtyard, where she
found Julan leaning against a pillar looking exhausted.

“Woken up, have you?” she
asked, and Julan shot her a tired glare.

“I’m a celebrity in
Mournhold,” he said defensively. “I can’t help it if my fans want to buy me
drinks.”

“I don’t think those girls
were buying you drinks because of your performance,” Fen muttered, starting
across the courtyard to the entrance to the Temple. The TempleCourtyard
was significantly less crowded than the Plaza Brindisi Dorum, as it often was.
The Temple
itself, standing on a raised platform in the centre of the district, dominated
most of the space, casting a shadow over the gardens surrounding it with its
long, twisting spires and elegant terraces. Fen had only visited the Temple a few times – she
could never remember going regularly to worship there. She had grown up
visiting the private shrine to the Tribunal with her grandmother every Sundas.

She and Julan climbed the wide
stairs up to the door, where they were met by a middle-aged Dunmer woman in a
robe decorated with words of prayer.

“Give to the Temple, and receive the blessings of
Almalexia,” she said, hailing them. “Our wealth dies with us, my child, but our
good deeds outlive us all. Would you care to make a donation to the Temple, and receive the
blessings of the Lady of Mercy?” Fen handed her a few coins.

“For the Temple, then, mehra.”

“Thank you, my child,” she
said, taking Fen’s coins gratefully.

“Mehra, what will Almalexia do
with that money?”

“Almalexia watches over all
Her children – the sick, the needy, the poor. Well...not actually in person.
She used to...in person, you know. But She’s made no public appearance for
years, so the Temple
takes care of Her children for Her. That’s what the money goes for, child.”

“She used to appear in
public?” Fen had always remembered Almalexia being some cloistered being, not
quite real, hiding in seclusion but watching over the city from her chapel.

“You know about Almsivi, the
Living Gods of our Temple?”
Fen nodded, deciding not to mention that they were no longer divine. “Gods, but
at the same time, living folks like you and me. Almalexia, the Lady of Mercy,
walked the streets of Mournhold Herself, healed the sick, fed the poor – gave
them clothes from Her own hand. The same with Lord Vivec. Then, ten years ago,
about the time of the Ghostfence, They stopped appearing in public – needed all
Almsivi’s power for the Ghostfence, They said. High priests still talk with
Them, but we don’t see Them.”

“Thank you, mehra,” Fen said,
and the priestess nodded and slipped away to go speak to another traveler.

“I hate the crazy Temple
priests,” Julan said angrily. “Even after you expose the Tribunal’s lies, Fen,
these people are still running about
like the living gods are the best things that’s ever happened to Tamriel.”

“They weren’t always bad,” Fen
muttered, leading the way towards the enormous front door of the Temple.

“Wait a minute,” Julan said
suddenly. “I just thought of something. Almalexia was Nerevar’s wife, right? And
you’re the reincarnation of Nerevar. So you’re married to Almalexia!” Julan doubled over in sudden laughter and
Fen rolled her eyes as she pushed open the door. Julan’s laughing stopped
abruptly as they entered the high-ceilinged reception hall on the Temple, where several
people walked about on shining marble floors, going quietly about their
business. Directly across the room from them, a set of colossal double doors
led to Almalexia’s High Chapel, where no one could enter unless summoned by
her. Fen decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to ask about discontent in the
front room of the Temple,
as there were several High Ordinators about, so she and Julan went down a long,
twisting hallway toward the infirmary.

“…and just leave it exposed
for two or three days, and it should heal nicely,” someone was saying from down
the hall. “There. That’s it. Come see me again if the swelling starts back up.”
Someone uttered a gruff thanks, then a Dunmer man with a half-healed wound
exited a room and passed them, going the opposite way down the hall. Fen and
Julan entered the room he had come from, where a tall, strong-faced Dunmer
woman in a simple blue robe was putting away bottles in a cabinet. A High
Ordinator lurked near the beds at the back of the infirmary.

“Good morning,” she said,
smiling at Fen and Julan as they entered. “How can I help you?” Before Fen
could speak, the woman’s eyes darkened. “Oh….the Nerevarine. In Mournhold. How
interesting.” She turned sharply back to her work and the High Ordinator tensed
slightly.

“Sera, I was wondering if you
know my friend, Mehra Milo?” The woman stopped sorting potions, her back still
towards Fen.

“Serjo, would you excuse us
for a moment?” she asked without turning, and the High Ordinator gave Fen a
dirty look and left the room. The healer turned as soon as he was gone and shut
the door. “I didn’t realize you knew Mehra,” she said, locking it with a key
from her pocket. “I am a faithful believer....but Almalexia makes me uneasy.
For the last fifty years, the Tribunal stopped walking among us, stopped
listening and speaking with us. This worried me, and made me sad. Were our gods
abandoning us? Were they growing weak? But since Almalexia has lately come
among us again, I feel more worry, not less. Her face glows brightly with hope
and power, but her words seem dark and bitter.” Fen wasn’t sure how to reply at
first, the woman’s outpouring of sudden bottled thoughts was so strong.

“Does she think Helseth to be
a fool, then?” The healer’s eyes darkened.

“Helseth has murdered King
Llethan and stolen his crown. It does not matter that King Llethan was a fool.
He was our fool. So long as the
puppet king was a joke, we all could laugh and ignore him. Helseth is not a
fool, and no one is laughing. If Helseth seeks in earnest to be king, then
Almalexia and the Temple
are sworn in earnest to destroy him.” Fen looked uneasily at her, conflicted
between her father’s desire to have her dead and her unconditional love for
him.

“I suppose,” Fen muttered, but
it was still with some hesitation that she relayed the information to Delitian
at the Palace.

“Galsa Andrano speaks her
mind, and, from what you say, sounds sincere. You handled her well. The Temple seems to recognize
that King Helseth will not be content to be a puppet like King Llethan, and
plans to act against us. Very good work, Fen. Now you can help us with another
matter. King Helseth is concerned about possible disloyalty among the Guards.”

“How long are you going to ask
me to spy on the people of Mournhold for my father when he doesn’t even want me
to be alive?” Delitian eyed her strongly.

“You wanted to help the King,
and I am giving you an outlet to do it
without making yourself known to him.”

“Fine,” Fen replied, not in the mood to argue. “What do
you want me to do?”

“I’ve replaced many of the former king’s guards with
more reliable men, so very few will know of your identity. But I had to keep
some experienced guards, and I can’t be certain of their loyalties. I will
pretend you wish to join the Royal Guards. That’s your excuse for talking to
the guards, sounding them out, and looking for evidence of disloyalty. If you
find any hint of treason or evidence of disloyalty, report it to me. Take no
action. Report to me, and I will judge what action is appropriate.”

“Is there anyone in particular to be looking for?” Fen
asked. Delitian snorted.

“It’syourjudgment I’m testing, not mine,” he said shortly. “Talk
to them yourself. Form your own conclusions. And if people ask you about your
background and qualifications, play the close-mouthed professional. Tell them
to mind their own business. But I’ll let slip my concerns about you hiding
close dealings with House Hlaalu in the past. Only a fool would share
confidences with a stranger. But perhaps we are dealing with a fool.” Fen only
nodded, her jaw clenched shut, and she and Julan exited the reception chamber.

“Who are we talking to first, then?” Julan asked,
clapping his hands together.

“Who are you talking
to first, you mean.” Julan cast a nervous glance at her.

“Fen…”

“No one would believe that I want to join the Royal Guard, Julan. I practically smell like a
spellcaster. And besides, you proved that you’re a top-notch actor already.”

“But I look like an Ashlander!” he protested. “I’ve
gotten more strange looks here than I ever did in Vvardenfell!”

“Turn around,” Fen said, pulling a bit of twine out of
her bag. Julan reluctantly complied, and she tied his hair back into a tiny
knot at the back of his head.

“I feel like a woman,” he said as Fen tucked his hair up
out of his face.

“But you don’t look like an Ashlander,” she replied
simply. “And your name is Athaso Rindal, and I’m your sister Fedura. We’re from
Balmora, and you’re looking to join the Royal Guard.”